


Country

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 08:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Faramir accidentally troubles his king’s procession.





	Country

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Having snuck out what he could, Faramir sets the food bowl down around the side of the house, where Pippin joyously barks and clamours for him. The puppy’s face is especially cute for his small size, and his black eyes are always wide with enthusiasm, or at least, always are now that he’s away from Denethor’s loud disapproval. Faramir kneels down and pets the tiny puppy while he eats, Pippin’s tail wagging as fast as his tongue.

Not-so-far off in the distance, the bells ring. Faramir straightens up for it, looking over, and Pippin yaps, torn from his food with bristling excitement. As much as Pippin loves to eat, he also loves attention, and Faramir immediately makes a grab for him. Already, people are pouring out of their homes, coming to fill the streets, and the last thing Faramir needs is to lose Pippin amongst them. But Pippin easily dodges his hands and bolts off towards the growing crowd, Faramir quick to follow.

He knows well enough what the bells mean—their king has returned, Gondor’s delegation finished with another northern treaty. Relations with Rohan have never been better, and everyone knows that it’s because of their wise king, who deserves to come home without stray dogs snapping at his horse’s heels. Faramir desperately chases Pippin through the streets before that can happen.

Too soon, the horses are coming through the second ring’s gates. Faramir barely takes them in, though on every other time, he’s paused to enjoy his fill of King Aragorn, the greatest ruler Gondor’s ever had. At least, in Faramir’s opinion. He’s always taken any chance to view his handsome lord, but there’s no time for it now. Sure enough, the king and his guards come plodding up the streets, and Pippin barks amongst the crowd’s cheers and slips right through the frontline.

Faramir, trapped between a heavy-set baker and his rowdy wife, can’t make it through in time. Pippin darts between the lead horse’s legs, startling it to rear, and Aragorn clutches tight to the reins as his guards pull back in surprise. Then the horse sets down again, and Aragorn’s pulled off one riding glove to pat its cheek. He whispers to it words that seem almost in another language, and it soothes the horse beyond anything Faramir’s ever seen—but Aragorn’s touch with animals is legendary. He’s wise and kind, and even lesser creatures can sense that. Faramir’s heart beats quicker for it—he’s always thought that one can judge a man by how their animals receive them. 

Behind Aragorn, Boromir’s quickly dismounting. Faramir hadn’t noticed him at first, but of course Boromir is the first to recover, and he chases after Pippin even as Faramir finally makes his way through the last of the crowd. Faramir tries to help, horrified but knowing he has to fix it. But the next thing he knows, Aragorn’s dismounted too, and Pippin’s dodged both brother’s attempts at capture to run right up to Aragorn’s boots. Aragorn bends down to scoop the furry bundle up in his arms, and Pippin barks happily and tries to lick Aragorn’s face. 

Leaning back to avoid the eager tongue, Aragorn chuckles good-naturedly. Faramir is mortified. Spotting him, Boromir approaches Aragorn and explains, “I apologize, my king. This is my brother’s dog...” Aragorn looks up instantly, a light now in his eyes. Boromir gestures to Faramir, who wants to turn and run, but Aragorn’s already seen him. Faramir trembles as Aragorn smiles, strangely soft for one so strong, and it makes Faramir want to melt right through the pavement. 

He whispers, hoarse, “I... am so sorry, my king...” and then swiftly collapses to his knees, bowing as low as he can. 

A gentle chuckle rings above his head. Aragorn bids him, “Please, rise. My guards know that I don’t require such formalities, and, I think, or hope, that you will join their ranks someday.” Faramir glances up, startled, as Aragorn continues, “I have long wished to meet you, Faramir. Boromir has told me much of you, and all of it has been in praise.”

A deep blush crosses Faramir’s cheeks, permeating his entire being. All he hears all day is his father’s disparagement, and it seems strange to him that a stranger, especially one so renowned, could think anything good of him. Aragorn gestures him pointedly up, and Faramir, hesitant and awkward, obeys. He rises to his feet, though they feel like they’ll give out on him at any second. He somehow manages a rattled, “Thank you, my king.”

While Aragorn and Faramir’s gaze seem to lock into place with one another, Boromir interrupts, “Is that one of Primula’s pups? She cannot have given birth so soon after I left, so why are they allowed out so soon?” There’s no scolding in Boromir’s voice, though there should be. It feels strange to speak of their idle household workings before their king if not in the sense that it’s troubled his procession.

It forces Faramir to explain, “Father had no wish to keep the runt... but I, ah... have been trying to care for him on my own...” He ducks his head before he meets Aragorn’s gaze. Though he’s old enough to be his own man, if only by a few short years, he still lives under his father’s roof, and he has no business disobeying Denethor’s commands. Boromir never does.

Aragorn says before Boromir can answer, “A noble choice. A runt is no less valuable for their size.” Faramir lifts his eyes again to find Aragorn fondly petting behind Pippin’s ears, while Pippin blissfully pants and beats his little tail against Aragorn’s broad chest. Faramir feels faintly dizzy from over stimulation at the sight of it alone. “If he becomes too much trouble,” Aragorn then offers, “you are welcome to bring him to my halls. All are welcome there.”

Faramir’s knees are weak. Aragorn steps forward and slips Pippin into Faramir’s arms—Faramir hurriedly accepts the squirming bundle, though Pippin barks and whimpers at the loss of Aragorn. Faramir completely understands why. With a dazzling smile, Aragorn, king of Gondor, actually bows to _Faramir_ , dipping low at the waist before turning away. Faramir dazedly watches as Aragorn mounts his steed, then tells Faramir, “I hope to see you again, son of Denethor.” A subtle nudge to his horse’s side, and the procession is moving, Boromir quickly joining. He, too, spares a smile for Faramir, but Faramir is too stunned to absorb it. 

Standing just at the edge of the curiously quiet crowd, Faramir watches his king disappear into the distance. He’s awash with happiness, and he buries his smile in Pippin’s warm fur. Pippin barks as if to say: _let’s go._


End file.
